On Fri, 21 Apr 2000, Met History wrote:

> I don't like gossip.  It is a corrosive social force.  It debases those who
> trade in it, and cheapens those who tolerate it without objection.  I don't
> like gossip; name-calling, either.

All this is undoubtedly true.  We got a pretty good dose of this argument
from our rabbi in his commentary (sermon) a few weeks ago.  He came up
with a very broad definition of gossip -- something like "unnecessary
communication of information about another person without their
knowledge."  He pointed to all kinds of religious proscriptions against
it, as well as the damage it can cause.

He also gave many examples of how the law against gossip had been violated
again and again from Biblical times to the present.  He acknowledged
we are all likely to do so again.

I wanted to argue with the rabbi then, but I didn't have the words at the
time.  So I'll argue now.

Why is this rule so hard to follow?  I would venture to suggest that the
rule itself, when broadly defined that way, is too hard.

It's easy to judge harshly when you limit the picture to You, your eager
Audience, the Secret (or mere fact) you are telling, the suffering Victim
to whom the Secret belongs, and God: the sin of Improper Revelation seems
crystal clear.

But we make a mistake to generalize this harsh image to every single
episode of conveying information about another.  This kind of
communication is also a key way that human communities work.

Communication *builds* communities, and for most communities, the main
topic of conversation is the people in the community.  The fact that news
about one individual spreads through the entire network is basic to our
conception of community and connectedness.  It's the same principle by
which a nickname (even an seemingly insulting nickname -- a step from
name-calling?) is a symbol of acceptance and inclusion by a group.

Imagine that something happened to you.  Perhaps it was something bad that
changes your life situation: your spouse dies or leaves you, your house
burns down, or you go out of business, say.  Your closest friends know
about it directly, of course, but the friends who you don't see every day
wouldn't.  Let's say all your dozens of friends and associates are
networked in such a way that they all talk to one another.

In those circumstances, you would be unpleasantly surprised if you had to
tell each one the bad news yourself.  You'd be dismayed, because at some
level you imagined that all these folks cared enough about you to talk
about it.  If nobody bothered, that would suggest that you weren't
important to them.

Many years ago when I was single, I had a whirlwind relationship with a
woman in the folk music community who I'll call Sharon.  Within 24 hours
of when this started, before the two of us had been together even briefly
in public, or been associated in any way at all, I attended a big folk
music event out of town, and one of the organizers hurried up to me and
asked if Sharon was here.

I was astonished at the question.  "News travels fast!" I said.

She told me how she had heard: it was from a musician I knew of but had
never met.  Evidently the musician had heard about it indirectly from
Sharon.

Perhaps under other circumstances, I might have been annoyed.  But at that
moment, perhaps because I was already euphoric before I entered the room,
I felt a great sense of connectedness with a community that cared so much
about my doings.  Myself, I was too shy to really want to discuss what had
happened, but it was not necessary.  People had rearranged their map of
social space to the extent that it was anticipated Sharon and I would show
up at events together.  And so we did, for a time.

Of course, communities exist not only through inclusion but also by
exclusion. And the same kind of information can be used to define a person
as the enemy, as discreditable, as *outside* the group.  This can be the
medium of suspicion and hatred and bigotry.  This kind of news is much
more likely to rise to the level of the harsh Biblical image mentioned
earlier.

But then again, there has to be a different rule for public figures.  The
famous case of "New York Times v. Sullivan" gives legal force to our
feeling that it's perfectly okay to openly discuss the peccadillos of our
presidents or mayors, as long as we don't do so with malice and with
reckless disregard for the truth.

Serious question, to which I do not know the answer:

     Are Famous Architects public figures for this purpose?

     Or do they become such only after death?

---
Lawrence Kestenbaum, [log in to unmask]
The Political Graveyard, http://politicalgraveyard.com